


take your time on me.

by redhoods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 21:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20365564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: The group may joke about Fjord being small and maybe he is, compared to other orcs or even half orcs, but there’s not much of anything about Fjord that’sactuallysmall. And Caleb can certainly appreciate that.Maybe too much.Fjord’s moved down a few more pairs, is rubbing another pair between his thumb and forefinger and Caleb looks away again, quietly clearing his throat.





	take your time on me.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [losebetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/losebetter/gifts).

> uhhhhhhhhhh grey started it?
> 
> grey also beta'd and helped me out with this.
> 
> title is from take your time by vance joy.
> 
> warning that i use feminine coded words to refer to fjord’s genitalia.

“Look, it’s not like I’m leaving the city,” Fjord says for the third time—Caleb’s about to start keeping tally in his book, at this rate—and rubs the bridge of his nose, “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Nott and Jester both open their mouths and Caleb flicks his eyes from them to Fjord to Beau, who holds up a hand, “No one’s saying you do, man, it’s just-” she wrinkles her face, “a lot of shit’s happened lately and it’s probably not a great idea for any of us to go out alone.”

Caleb can practically _see_ the arguments wearing on Fjord, which means he misses when Beau jerks her chin at him.

“Take Caleb, I’m sure he’ll just read his new book the whole time and you won’t even notice him there.”

Fjord turns to him and Caleb simply blinks back at him, then lifts his book with what he hopes is an apologetic shrug. It drags a great sigh out of Fjord, which Caleb tries not to take personally, before he nods, “Alright, if it will make you all feel better, I’ll take Caleb.”

Which is how Caleb finds himself following in Fjord’s wake as he tries to find whatever it is he’s looking for. “Fjord,” he tries, going for gentle, “If you just—”

“—_Caleb_,” Fjord says and Caleb’s teeth clink when he shuts his mouth.

It takes Fjord a while to find what he’s looking for and Caleb frowns at the sign for the clothing store for several beats before realizing Fjord is already inside and steps in behind him.

“Let me look at you,” the woman is saying and she’s got a measuring tape around her neck and glasses sliding down her nose. She barely comes up to Fjord’s waist and her beard is better groomed than Caleb thinks his own has ever been.

He can’t see Fjord’s face, but he can see the way Fjord’s ears tuck back against his scalp, the way he rolls his shoulders back, like he’s bracing for impact.

The dwarf woman clicks her tongue once, “I might have some of what you’re looking for, might have to lengthen them, you’ve got much longer legs than my usual clientele,” she waves a hand, he thinks, “Feel free to look and I’ll make whatever adjustments are necessary.”

Fjord immediately steps away and Caleb blinks after him.

“Oh, didn’t even see you there,” the woman pushes her glasses up her nose and squints at him, “Can I help you?”

Caleb opens and closes his mouth, then points in the direction Fjord has gone, still visible over the short racks that clearly cater to dwarven shoppers.

And not broad, filled out half orcs.

Not that Caleb’s been paying that much attention.

The woman nods and grins, like she’s in on some secret, “Well, go on then, don’t be shy,” and turns away before Caleb can formulate a response.

As if he could.

He can feel his face heat as he winds through the racks, though he doesn’t go too close, giving Fjord the privacy he’d so clearly wanted. Or some semblance of it. Though there’s really nowhere to hide or sit in the store, so he simply watches.

There’s surely some rhyme or reason as to how Fjord is picking which fabrics to touch, moving down a rack slowly, not actually touching the pieces with anything but the points of his claws. Every so many pieces, he’ll pause and pluck a piece of fabric away to rub it between his fingers.

On a few, his nose scrunches and he immediately releases them.

On others though, he uses both hands to stretch it a little.

It’s pretty clear, to Caleb anyways, how Fjord categorizes them from there. Some he clearly likes, the way he lingers, still rubbing them between his fingers. Some he doesn’t mind, some he’s not impressed with. And it takes Caleb far too long to realize what they are, too entranced as he is watching Fjord quietly and seriously interact with each article.

They’re all leggings.

Caleb drops his eyes to Fjord’s legs then away again, looking at the far wall, feeling like his neck is far too warm. He’s not blind, nor is he unaware, and nor can he deny—within the confines of his own mind—that he’s definitely found himself looking at Fjord’s thighs.

The group may joke about Fjord being small and maybe he is, compared to other orcs or even half orcs, but there’s not much of anything about Fjord that’s _actually_ small. And Caleb can certainly appreciate that.

Maybe too much.

Fjord’s moved down a few more pairs, is rubbing another pair between his thumb and forefinger and Caleb looks away again, quietly clearing his throat.

“All right, Caleb?” 

When he lifts his gaze, Fjord is looking at him, lips pressed into a flat line, and Caleb clears his throat and nods, “Ja, I am fine,” he says, not at all convincingly, by the way Fjord’s lips twist like he’s displeased about something. Caleb rubs a hand over his cheek and hopes his blush isn’t too obvious.

The idea that Fjord’s caught him staring curls unpleasantly in his belly. Fjord’s been objectified enough in the group and he hates to think that he’s adding to that. He takes a few steps away, trying to busy himself looking at thicker cloaks, even though all of them already have winter clothes.

Except his eyes keep drifting back to Fjord.

Fjord meets his gaze at one point and looks away immediately, his ears pressing back flat against his scalp again and Caleb swears internally.

When he looks again though, Fjord’s got a pair of leggings thrown over his shoulder and is striding purposefully towards the front counter, so Caleb follows behind him sedately and waits by the counter while the dwarven woman takes Fjord to the back to measure him and make her adjustments.

It takes less time than he expects it to, before Fjord is trudging back out with a package under his arms.

They don’t speak on the way back to the inn and Fjord immediately takes the stairs up to his room while Caleb goes to the bar for an ale. It’s only three in the afternoon, but he needs it.

Beau comes to interrupt him twenty minutes later when half his tankard is empty, digging her elbow harshly into his side as she leans over the bar to flag down the bartender, “What the fuck did you do, Widogast?” She bites at him as she sinks back onto the stool.

He frowns, “You’ll have to be more specific, Beauregard.”

She stares at him for too long in a way that would make him fidget if he weren’t well used to Beau already. Then she snorts and takes his tankard from him, draining the rest of it, “Fjord, dumbass, what did you do to Fjord?”

That does make him shift and he glances away, swallows thickly. “Things were... awkward while we were shopping, but I do not think I did anything in particular.”

“Awkward how?”

“Beauregard.”

“Caleb.”

He sighs noisily, takes her tankard as soon as it’s in front of her and takes a long pull, “I think I made him feel awkward,” he says and chances a glance.

She blinks then huffs, “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“I do not think I am,” he counters, “It was your idea for me to join him.”

“Well, I had no way of knowing this would happen.”

“I’m not blaming you, Beau,” he slides her tankard to her, “I’ll apologize in the morning.”

“You better,” she says and doesn’t have to include a verbal threat for him to feel it.

\-----

When they all gather for breakfast, Caleb decides to wait until everyone’s spread out for their second day of rest before he tries to make his apologies. He does notice though that Fjord seems to be wearing his new leggings and he’s glad that at least Fjord got what he wanted out of the whole awkward situation.

Though he doesn’t fail to notice how restless Fjord seems, the way he can’t seem to sit still all through breakfast.

He’s not the only one that notices either.

And, finally, Jester puts her half finished cupcake down and practically climbs on the table to lean across and look closely at Fjord’s face, “Are you feeling okay, Fjord? You’re not getting sick, are you?” She asks, eyes almost comically wide.

“I was going to ask that myself, you’ve hardly sat still since you came down,” Caduceus says solemnly over his cup of tea.

Fjord shifts restless and Caleb can see him looking for an out, grasping for a lie, “I’m fine, really,” he comes out with, “I guess I’m getting anxious to see the sword.”

It’s not a lie, but Caleb doesn’t think it’s the whole truth either.

“Well, hopefully, Mr. Umagorn—”

“—Umi,” both Jester and Nott interject—

“—Mr. Umagorn will be ready for travel by tomorrow,” Caduceus carries on like he hadn’t been interrupted and Caleb thinks it’s a skill they’re all getting far too good at.

Fjord nods and that’s that.

The others split off and Caleb watches Nott and Jester slip off together with mounting trepidation, but Beau shakes her head and follows after so he’s got a modicum of hope that they won’t get up to too much trouble. It leaves he, Fjord, and Caduceus at the table, though Caduceus seems to simply know that Caleb wants to have a word because he stands up.

“I think I’ll try to find a tea shop,” he announces and steps away.

“Caduceus—”

“Fjord—”

Caleb meets Fjord’s gaze, “Just a quick word?” He twists his mouth, “Bitte?”

Fjord looks between he and Caduceus and shifts again and that’s when Caleb realizes that Fjord is pulling on his leggings, rubbing his hands down his thighs like he’s trying to right them. He flicks his gaze away quickly, to Caduceus who’s still paused a step from the table.

“What happened to not traveling alone?” Fjord says.

“Oh, right you are,” he gestures away from the table, “I’ll wait over here if you’d like to join me?”

Fjord nods.

Caleb curls his fingers on the table top, watches Fjord watch Caduceus, then sees Fjord tug at his leggings again and tips his head back to look up towards the ceiling. He’s going to truly lose his mind at this rate.

“Caleb,” and when he drops his gaze, Fjord is staring at him expectantly.

“Ja?” He scoffs at himself and shakes his head, “Right, yes, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I hope I have not made things too awkward.” He speaks carefully, slowly choosing his words, and doesn’t meet Fjord’s gaze again until he’s done speaking. 

Fjord is looking at him like Caleb’s lost his mind.

“Okay, well, that was all,” he says and extracts himself from the table quickly, ignores that Fjord moves to stop him as he goes to find himself a tucked away place in the corner to take out his book.

He watches over the top of his book as Fjord follows Caduceus out of the tavern, still pulling at his leggings.

Oh,

“Gottsverdammt,” he mutters to himself and tucks his book back into the holster and stands.

\----

The shop is easy to find now that he knows where it’s at and he lets himself inside, setting off a gently tinkling set of bells above head that he’d somehow missed the previous day. Too preoccupied with Fjord apparently.

“One moment!”

Caleb stands just inside the door for what feels like too long, but is really only ninety-three seconds, before the dwarven woman from yesterday comes bustling out from around the screens set up to partition the shop from the back dressing area.

If she’s surprised to see him, she doesn’t show it, simply adjusts her glasses, “Ah, back so soon, what can I help you with?”

“Uh,” he takes a breath, squares his shoulders like he’s seen Fjord do so many times, “My friend yesterday,” he says slowly, ignoring her skeptical eyebrow at the word ‘friend’, “I’m not sure he quite got what he was looking for and I was hoping you could help me rectify that.”

She considers him for a moment, smiling a little, “I suspected that might have been the case,” she gestures to the racks, “Find what you think he’ll like. I’ll make the adjustments. Measurements like those are rare around here, easy to remember.”

He nods, once, “Danke,” and winds his way to the rack Fjord had been at the previous day.

And, well, he’s glad he’d been paying too close attention now as he stands in front of the full rack of leggings. It only takes him a short amount of time to find the pairs he knew Fjord really wanted and bundle them carefully into his arms.

The woman’s eyebrows raise up towards her hairline, “It will take me some time to adjust all of these,” she says slowly, tacks on an unnecessary, “For your friend.”

“That is fine, I will wait,” Caleb tells her and pulls out his book for emphasis.

She hums, “Very well. If you’d like, you can sit on one of the stools from the back.”

\----

Caleb leaves the shop with a fairly hefty package and much lighter purse, but he feels much better about things as he walks back to the tavern. At least, until he’s outside the door and realizing that any number of his friends could be in there and could see him with the package.

There’d be so many questions that he’s not sure how to begin to answer without embarrassing himself or Fjord or both of them all at once.

He does the sensible thing and sends Frumpkin in first.

It’s not the strangest thing he’s ever done.

The only person he’s familiar with that he sees in the main room of the tavern is Caduceus and he breathes out in relief as he pulls from Frumpkin’s gaze before he allows himself to enter, clutching the package to his chest. Caduceus notices things, but Caleb doesn’t think this is one of the things that will phase Caduceus all that much.

He hopes so anyways as he approaches the cleric, “Hallo, Caduceus.”

“Mr. Caleb,” he tilts his head, “I see you went out on your own.”

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh, “Ja, that I did,” he admits, “I believe it was all for a good cause,” he adds and hefts the package a little, “Is Fjord here?”

Caduceus looks from the package to him and back to the package with something like realization dawning on his features, “He’s in his room,” and then goes back to stirring his tea.

Before anything more can come up, Caleb turns and takes the stairs to the second floor. He stops in his room to shed his coat and bags, the extraneous stuff that usually serves as his buffer—armor—between himself and others. He’s only taking a package to a friend, he doesn’t need components for that.

He scoops the package up once more and goes down to the next door and wraps his knuckles against the wood gently, “Fjord.”

There’s shuffling behind the door, a muffled swear, then the door opens the barest sliver, enough to reveal some green skin and an amber eye and not much else, like Fjord’s got himself curled around the back of the door.

Caleb squints at him for a second then remembers his reason for coming to Fjord’s door, “I got you something.”

Fjord’s eye drops, to the package Caleb figures, then the door opens a bit more, “You didn’t have to do that, Caleb,” his voice is very hushed, confused even.

“I wanted to,” Caleb argues and holds the package out.

“Uh,” Fjord says, then the door opens more, “Come on in?”

Caleb lifts an eyebrow, “Do you want me to?”

There’s a quiet pause while he waits for Fjord to consider, “Yes, just... don’t laugh.”

“Why would I—alright, I won’t laugh,” Caleb amends quietly, confused and curious in maybe equal measures, “I promise,” he adds as he steps into the room, not looking at Fjord yet. He walks to the bed and sets the package on the bed.

Fjord’s new leggings are there, at the end, tossed across like he’d thrown them off.

Caleb swallows and turns, finds Fjord standing awkwardly still by the door, shoulders hunched like he’s not trying to draw attention to himself. Or the fact that he’s only in his smalls and tunic. He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile and doesn’t linger anywhere but Fjord’s face, “I hope these are all right.”

“Caleb—”

He shakes his head and takes a step away from the bed and then another, though not towards Fjord, not wanting to crowd him, and gestures towards the bed, “Go ahead.”

They end up having a staring contest, seconds dragging on before Fjord squares his jaw and steps from the door.

Caleb stares at the spot he’d vacated.

There’s a rustling of the paper as Fjord opens the package and in the quiet of the room, there’s no missing the quiet sound of surprise that Fjord makes, but tries to cover. When Caleb turns his head, Fjord is touching one of the pairs, rubbing it between his fingers like he had been in the store.

“Of course you remembered,” Fjord says quietly.

Caleb hitches his shoulders, “I felt bad. It was my fault you didn’t get the ones you wanted,” he explains, shifting on his feet.

“I’m sorry about that,” Fjord says and Caleb stares at the back of his head, “I know clothes shopping isn’t exactly riveting and I’m sure you had better things to do with your time.” He seems completely unaware of the hole Caleb is trying to stare through his skull.

“Oh,” Caleb says, then, “No.”

“No?” Fjord turns to him finally, blinks in the face of whatever it is Caleb’s face is doing against his will.

“Aw, schiesse,” Caleb rubs a hand over his mouth, over his beard, breathes out quietly, “That’s not—” he sighs heavily, “Trust me when I say I was riveted.”

Fjord blinks at him several times, his pupils going wide as his face turns a ruddy brown, “Oh,” he says and then, “_Oh_,” again with more feeling. It makes him shift on his feet, drop his gaze back to the fabric he’s still rubbing between his fingers.

Grimacing to himself, Caleb takes a step towards the door, “Now that I have made things weird—”

“—do you—” Fjord cuts himself off with a weird sound and Caleb pauses at the door, “Will you stay while I try them on? Tell me if I look ridiculous?”

“Oh, ja, I can...” he trails off and watches with his heart in his throat as Fjord pulls the small chair away from the table, like he’s setting himself a stage. When Fjord gestures to the chair, Caleb bobs his head in a nod and walks to it, edging around Fjord to take a seat.

Fjord doesn’t look at him as he goes to the bed, but Caleb can see the ruddy brown that’s spread up the back of his neck. The thing that catches Caleb the most though is the way that his ears stay down, not pressed to his scalp, like he’s comfortable. It’s what he forces himself to focus on, the space over Fjord’s shoulder, rather than the rest of Fjord as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Or he tries.

“Caleb,” Fjord says and his gaze turns, meets Fjord’s eyes, “You can look,” Fjord tells him, very carefully.

“Are you—”

“—I’m sure, Cay,” Fjord adds and Caleb’s throat clicks when he swallows.

Caleb drags his gaze down and Fjord hums softly, picking out a pair of leggings. He takes his time, taking in the breadth of Fjord’s shoulders, his chest and belly, even covered by the tunic. Then his smalls which are hiked up from how he’s sitting, revealing a lot of green thighs and Caleb lingers.

“I thought so,” Fjord says suddenly as he crosses one leg up to slide one foot into the leggings, “I’ve seen you looking a few times,” he goes on, conversational, like he’s not sending Caleb’s heartbeat into double time, “It’s okay though,” he adds quickly.

“I saw, because I was looking back,” this part he adds shyly, gaze dipped to where he’s dragging the leggings up his thighs now.

He has to stand to pull them the rest of the way up and somehow that’s worse, watching him pull the leggings up the rest of way over his thighs and hips, and then Fjord smooths his hands back down over the fabric and Caleb hopes the way he gulps isn’t too audible.

Caleb drags his eyes up, meets Fjord’s hesitant gaze, “How do they feel?”

Fjord takes a few steps, turns and walks back to his original spot, “Soft.” He sits back on the bed and Caleb watches the material stretch over his thighs. “Seems like they’ll hold up for a while.”

“Gut,” his voice comes out lower than he expects it to and there’s no fighting his blush.

Their gazes meet again and Fjord’s pupils are blown so wide that the amber is nearly swallowed up. Fjord swallows visibly, his eyelids drooping down as his tongue snakes out over his lower lip, “Want to help me take them off?”

“Ja, I really do,” Caleb says and it takes effort not to immediately launch himself from the chair, waiting to make sure Fjord is okay, is truly okay.

It’s quiet as Fjord stands and Caleb’s briefly concerned, but he watches Fjord pick up the leggings he hadn’t liked and simply toss them off to the side. He takes the others from the wrapping though, feeling the fabric of both pairs, nodding to himself as he walks to his pack, just out of Caleb’s reach, and tucks them both into the bag of holding. Then Fjord offers him a hand and a raised eyebrow, smile subdued.

Caleb locks their eyes first, searches Fjord’s gaze, and then fits his hand into Fjord’s, lets himself be pulled up from the chair and right against the line of Fjord’s body, “Hallo.”

Fjord snorts softly, smudges a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Hello,” he says quietly there, breath warm against Caleb’s jaw, “I’ve wanted to do this for a while, or, I think, I haven’t let myself want it.”

Humming softly, he skates his palms up Fjord’s arms, across his shoulders, then drapes his arms there, cupping the back of Fjord’s neck gently, turns his head to brush their mouths gently, “I’ve tried not to think about it,” he admits there, like the words will get lost between his mouth and Fjord’s, “I didn’t think you’d...”

“I do,” Fjord says.

“Me too,” and Caleb kisses him.

Fjord makes a quiet wounded sound against his mouth and the grip Fjord takes of his hips is almost too tight, claws pressing through the layer of his clothes, but Caleb doesn’t care at all.

Caleb slides a hand forward to cup Fjord’s jaw, eases him a little, turns the kiss into a gentle press of their mouths before he licks into Fjord’s mouth, drawing another low sound out of Fjord that he feels reverberate through his chest. It ignites a curiosity in his chest, to see how many of those sounds he can pull out of Fjord.

They stay like that for a while and Caleb’s glad to find that time slides away from him, _he loses track_, and Fjord is the first to pull back with a gentle smack of his lips. “Oh boy,” Fjord says against his mouth and Caleb snorts his agreement.

He tips his chin, drags his mouth along Fjord’s jaw, feels Fjord’s pulse thundering under his mouth, “I believe there was mention of removing those leggings,” he murmurs into the skin, pulls back enough to meet Fjord’s gaze, “If that’s something you are still amenable to?”

“Yep, yes, very, please,” Fjord’s face seems to get impossibly more red and his eyes are more pupil than anything and Caleb feels it like a bolt to the chest.

Fjord is the one to step away, chin to his chest as he pulls at the bottom of his tunic, debate plain on his face, and Caleb cups a hand over his, meets his gaze carefully, imploring.

“You can leave it on, if you want,” he says, when Fjord starts gnawing on his lower lip, “I want you to be comfortable.”

The look Fjord gives him is startled, genuine surprise, and Caleb breathes heavily through his nose, watches Fjord’s nostrils flare in response. (And that’s something to think about later.) Fjord tips his head, an acknowledgement and then nearly wrenches the shirt off.

Or tries, though the material hangs up around his shoulders and Caleb presses a kiss to his sternum before helping him out of it.

Bashful is a good look for Fjord, like most looks, and Caleb kisses the embarrassment away, sliding his palms down over Fjord’s chest. He eases back enough to roll their foreheads together, meet Fjord’s eyes once more, “Is there anything I shouldn’t do?”

Fjord blinks at him a few times, like he’s trying to see through a fog and his hands curl back around Caleb’s waist, and Caleb inhales deeply against them, slow and steady.

“I don’t—” Fjord pauses, licks his lips, “—I’m not sure. If I don’t like something, I’ll tell you.”

“Gut, that’s good,” he says and applies pressure to Fjord’s chest, urging him back towards the bed, “You should get comfortable.”

And, under his palms, a rumble rolls through Fjord’s chest. Interesting.

Fjord nods and steps away, looking between the bed and Caleb and back to the bed, and Caleb takes the opportunity to breathe, watching Fjord knee up onto the bed. And then he simply tips over, sprawls himself out against the pillows, easy as you please, and Caleb drinks him in.

“Gotts,” Caleb steps to the edge of the bed, bumping his knees against the side, lifts his eyes back to Fjord’s face. 

Though Fjord’s gaze isn’t on his face, is dragging down his body, and Caleb fights the ridiculous urge to curve himself away. Fjord’s hand darts out before he can, cupping his hip, “You really do—” he cuts himself off.

Caleb huffs out a quiet sound, lifting a knee onto the bed, “Is that so hard for you to believe?” He asks, not really looking for an answer. And he fully lifts himself onto the bed, “you’re an extraordinarily attractive person, Fjord,” he ducks his head to press another kiss to Fjord’s sternum, “and I don’t just mean physically.”

Another rumble rolls through Fjord, like the beginning of a purr.

When he looks up, Fjord’s got his eyes clenched shut, but his hand on Caleb’s hip doesn’t tighten and his ears are still relaxed. So he presses another kiss to Fjord’s chest, and shifts down the bed, gently nudging at one of Fjord’s thighs so he can settle between them.

He watches quietly as Fjord throws one arm over his face, catches the small sliver of reflection that he thinks means Fjord’s looking again, “Gut?”

“Good,” Fjord says, voice higher, half there, half gone.

Caleb splays his palms on each thigh, watches the shudder that ripples through Fjord. Then presses, eyes on Fjord’s face as he eases his thighs open more, thumbs against the inner seams of the leggings. “You were right, these are very soft,” he rubs his thumbs over the fabric, grinning to himself when Fjord’s hips jerk.

“I didn’t—” Fjord starts and, for that brief instant, it’s Vandran’s voice that comes out, but Fjord clears his throat, “I didn’t take you for such a tease, Caleb.”

“Ha,” Caleb squeezes his thighs, then scrapes his nails down slowly over the fabric, “I can’t say that I’m feeling sorry, but perhaps I am feeling generous. Is there something you want, schatz?” He runs his hands back up, feeling the muscles tense and release under his palms and stops when his thumbs are almost to the crux of where Fjord’s thighs meet his groin.

Fjord actually growls at him—there’s no other word for it—and cants his hips up, “_Caleb._”

Stifling a quiet laugh, he stills his hands, says as sweetly as he can manage, “Yes, Fjord?”

The hand on his hip tightens, claws potentially puncturing clothing, “I believe something was said about getting me out of these leggings,” Fjord says, very slowly, before his hand releases and drops to the sheets next to him, “Please.”

Caleb curves forward, smudging kisses across the line of Fjord’s collarbone, “Well, now, that can certainly be arranged,” he says, ignoring the subvocal rumble that happens under his mouth. He slides his hands to the outside of Fjord’s thighs and up, hooking his fingers under the band of the leggings.

“If you want to stop, say so,” he offers, just to be sure, but all he gets is a glare from under Fjord’s arms, eyes glinting like flint in the shadows created, and he nods.

Then slides his hands up Fjord’s chest, instead of down, relishing in the frustrated groan that Fjord lets out, but he finally drops the arm from over his eyes, flinging his arm down against the mattress and Caleb leans forward to kiss the side of his mouth over the shy jut of a tusk, “There you are.”

Fjord exhales against his mouth, dips his chin to slot their lips together, then thunks his head back against the pillow, “You’re killing me, love,” he says, that lilting accent curling pleasantly under Caleb’s collarbone in a way he’ll inspect later.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Caleb replies, mouthing down the column of Fjord’s throat, thumbs over his right nipple. Fjord actually jolts under him, like he’s been struck, and moans, loud and low, so he does it again to the same reaction. “Sensitive?” He muffles the words into Fjord’s throat, leaving gentle nips as he slides lower.

The response is oddly muffled and when Caleb flicks his gaze up, Fjord’s eyes are wide as dinner plates, entirely fixed on him, and he’s got the knuckle of one of his thumbs caught between his teeth. His cheeks are flushed so dark that they’re no longer brown, but actually red.

He circles his thumbnail around the same nipple, watches Fjord try and fail to keep his eyes from fluttering closed as he moans again. And maybe he’s a bit—a lot—distracted by Fjord’s face, but as he drags his nail around again, it’s not until the underside, the space between nipple and scar that Fjord jolts again.

Caleb hums low, “There?” He flattens his thumb out, rubs the pad of it back and forth over the area.

Fjord garbles a sound around his knuckles that he’s hard pressed to take as anything but affirmation.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, watches Fjord’s mouth open, likely formulating a response, but flicks his tongue over the opposite nipple, mouths to the stretch of skin below it, and whatever his response was is lost to the way his body shudders, his hips tilting up enough that he nearly dislodges Caleb.

He pets his hands gently down Fjord’s flanks, drags open mouthed kisses over the area, scrapes his teeth easy there, traces the line of Fjord’s scar.

Until Fjord is panting, until Fjord slides a hand into his hair and tugs gently, “Ca-Caleb.”

Squeezing Fjord’s side, he hums and slides down, flicks his tongue across the same scar before he sits up, then back on his heels, “I have you.”

He drags his hands down, scraping his nails lightly over the skin until he hooks them once more in the band of Fjord’s leggings and then starts to gently tug on the fabric. It’s soft and stretchy, but also clingy apparently and as he slides it down, it bunches up at Fjord’s thighs.

Again, he watches Fjord toss his arm over his eyes, watches the way his nostrils flare, how he worries at his thumb with his teeth again.

Almost like he’s embarrassed. 

Caleb shifts, slides down the bed, so he can press a kiss to Fjord’s hip, to the softness of his belly, to the top of his thigh below the lower hem of his smalls, “Gut?” He asks, stilling there. The smell of Fjord’s arousal is thick here, cloying on the back of his tongue, and he’s got to remind himself he’s got a goal here.

Even if potentially getting his mouth on Fjord is part of that.

All in good time.

Fjord trembles, a fine quake that rolls through his whole body and Caleb watches his chest heave as he tries to catch his breath, waits, gives him his time. Eventually, Fjord moves his hand from his mouth again, curls it determinedly in the blankets below him before jerking his chin in a nod.

He hums, drags his mouth and beard along Fjord’s thighs and continues to gently tug the material of Fjord’s leggings down. At one point, he’s actually got to sit up to remove them, Fjord’s legs are too long not to, but he presses a kiss to the crook of his knee, thumbs at his ankle bone, digs his thumbs into the arch of his foot. The last one makes Fjord twitch, try to stifle a laugh, and Caleb grins, scrapes his nail over the skin.

There’s no stifling that laugh and Caleb lowers his foot back down, tosses the leggings in the direction of Fjord’s pack. He turns, settles again, dragging his eyes over all of Fjord, splayed out on the bed, what seems like miles of skin on display.

“Gorgeous,” he says quietly, just audible over what can’t be classified as anything but a purr that kicks up in Fjord’s chest. He keeps his touch light, over Fjord’s ankles and calves, presses his thumbs behind his knees just enough to see him twitch.

And then he can settle down, on his belly between Fjord’s thighs, dragging his mouth over one and then the other.

Fjord quakes and he scrapes his teeth over the meat of Fjord’s left thigh, then sets about worrying a mark into the skin. A purplish brown mark is forming when he pulls away and he presses a kiss to the spot, turns his head to do the same to the other side.

“Fu-uck,” Fjord’s voice breaks on the word, kicks up higher when Caleb nips just at the edge of his smalls. “You could—should take those off,” and then tacks on an almost whine of a, “_please_.”

Caleb rubs his chin over Fjord’s thigh, hums like he’s thinking as he switches to the opposite side to do the same, enjoying the way that even Fjord’s green skin can’t hide the color rising to the surface there. “Should I?” He asks, moving to exhale over Fjord through his smalls, through the damp spot on them.

Fjord very nearly rocks off the bed and Caleb slides his arms under Fjord’s thighs, cups his hands around them to help anchor him down.

“That seems like a yes,” he carries on, then presses his mouth to the damp spot, flattens his tongue against it, tightens his grip when Fjord’s whole body jerks again, a wild snarl pulling out of his chest. Caleb thinks he should definitely take mercy on him, but doesn’t move to do so, dragging his tongue over the fabric once more.

Fjord cants under him and the thing is, Caleb knows that if Fjord really wanted to, he could take control, could push Caleb off and take his smalls off himself. He doesn’t though, one of his hands is so tight in the blankets that Caleb isn’t going to be surprised if they end up shredded. And he meets Fjord’s gaze as he reaches out with the other, tentative like he wants to touch but isn’t sure.

“Go ahead,” he urges, mouth still pressed against Fjord, watching his lip curl on another snarl that’s more moan.

It’s obvious that Fjord is being very careful about his claws, his fingers not quite curled as he slides his hand into Caleb’s hair, tugs gently.

And Caleb isn’t shy about it, groans where he is, eyes heavy lidded and still on Fjord’s face.

“Cay, come on,” Fjord whines and his thighs haven’t stopped trembling.

He hums and lifts up enough, pressing his head into Fjord’s palm as he resituates to hook his fingers in Fjord’s smallclothes and starts dragging them down and off. It’s a little awkward when they reach Fjord’s knees and as loathe as he is to do it, Caleb sits up to finish tugging them off.

Those get tossed without any sort of discretion.

Fjord’s thighs spasm, like he’s considering closing them, but he doesn’t and Caleb hums softly, “Gut,” and that rolls another shiver through Fjord’s frame. He files that away as he starts the process again, working his way up Fjord’s body from his ankles.

There’s no hiding Fjord’s impatience and Caleb thinks he’s teased enough as it is. So he allows himself to worry one more mark into Fjord’s thigh, high up where his smalls had been covering minutes ago, nearly getting dislodged as he does so.

He pets his hands over Fjord’s thighs as he settles on his belly again, “Easy,” he says, sliding an arm under Fjord’s thigh again.

“‘Easy,’ he says,” Fjord grumbles on a shaky breath, “I will smother you,” he adds, when Caleb just breathes out across his cunt.

“What a way to go,” Caleb teases, startling out a groan when Fjord’s thighs flex, clamping down around his ears. One of Fjord’s hands slides into his hair again and he nudges into it as best he can as he fits his other hand between them. He curls his index finger, flicks his gaze up Fjord’s body and drags his knuckle through his folds.

Above him, Fjord exhales noisily, tugs at his hair, so Caleb lets himself be pulled, licks a line from Fjord’s hole up over his clit. The hand in his hair tenses, little pinpricks of pain along his scalp, and when he looks, Fjord’s mouth is open, though no sound is actually coming from him.

He blows out over him, feels Fjord’s thighs tremble, and rolls his tongue.

“Ah,” Fjord releases his hair suddenly and Caleb lifts his head, watches him twist it in the pillow beneath his head, the tendons and muscles in his arm tensed.

“Are you alright?” Caleb asks, turns to press his mouth to Fjord’s thigh.

The laugh that comes out of Fjord is breathless, slightly hysterical. “Peachy,” his voice hitches as Caleb tilts his hand, presses his knuckle against his clit, “So—just so good, right now.”

Caleb considers him for a second or two, rotates his knuckle to watch the tremble that runs through Fjord, slides his finger down again, uncurls it to press into Fjord. “You’re already so wet,” he says, mouth still half pressed to Fjord’s thigh, “that close?”

Fjord hiccups out a wild sound, “Guess I am,” he pants out, “Been a while.”

“Mmh, how many do you think?” He asks, curling his finger as he feather light passes his thumb over Fjord’s clit.

“You’re—” Fjord whines, a high sound that he tries to muffle into his bicep, “—fuck, Cay, I don’t know.”

Caleb licks around his finger, listens to Fjord’s choked off moans with a considering hum. He keeps doing it, rubbing his finger against Fjord’s inner walls, feeling the tremble of his thighs. And when Fjord’s sounds get high and broken, he stops, pulls his mouth back, stills his finger.

Fjord chokes out something that’s almost a sob above him, a growl bubbling from low in his chest, “Caleb.”

“How many?” 

“You asshole,” Fjord bites out and Caleb curls his finger again to feel him quake.

“I like setting goals,” he says, nipping a string of small marks on Fjord’s thigh, “I want to know how much is too much, Fjord, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Fjord goes quiet and Caleb waits him out, gentling to soft kisses along his skin while the trembling in his thighs subsides.

For now.

“I’m not sure, Caleb, honestly,” Fjord says after maybe a minute, “I’ll let you know though, if it’s too much. Does that work?” And when Caleb lifts his head, meets his gaze, Fjord is looking back, expression sure and serious.

“Ja, I’m holding you to that,” he presses a smacking kiss to Fjord’s thigh, then crooks his finger, rocks with the jerk of Fjord’s hips. He settles back in, licks around his finger again, presses in close as Fjord’s thighs start to tremble around his head.

And he thinks about teasing more, drawing it out, building Fjord up and letting him hang on the edge for a while, but with the way Fjord is trembling around him, he’s not sure it’s going to happen.

They’ll have time, he thinks wildly hopeful, and rubs his thumb over Fjord’s clit in quick circles.

Fjord’s moan turns into a bitten off shout when he doesn’t let up, keeps rubbing, keeps his finger crooked inside him, and Fjord’s thighs tremble before clamping tight around his head. Caleb gentles his touch, eases him through it, and groans against Fjord’s thigh at the gentle punched out noise he makes as his body goes lax.

He’s trembling and when Caleb glances up, he’s flat out, arms on either side of him, staring a little dazedly at the ceiling.

“Gut?”

Fjord only flaps a hand at him half heartedly.

Caleb hums, withdraws his hand and presses back in with two fingers, licks between them.

“Fuck, Cay, Caleb, _please_,” Fjord had already been sensitive and it’s only moreso in the wake of his first orgasm and Caleb flattens his tongue, drags it up through his folds, curls it against his clit and then back down to lick between his fingers again.

And Fjord’s ankles cross against his back, heels digging in as he rocks his hips up.

Caleb groans, bites a kiss into his thigh, “Impatient,” he mumbles there, twists and scissors his fingers, then hooks them up.

There’s no sound when he cums this time, body locking up tight, mouth open like he’s shouting, and there’s a gush of fluid against his chin, so he ducks in, drags his tongue over Fjord, licking him clean while Fjord quakes and quakes around him.

The next comes fast and takes both of them by surprise, the way Fjord’s whole body jerks hard, goes tight like a bowstring.

Caleb gently fucks him through with his fingers, cheek against Fjord’s thigh as he watches his face, looking for any sign of oversensitivity or discomfort. Slows his movements to a stop when Fjord’s legs slide off his back to land on the mattress. “Fjord, are you still alive?”

Fjord gurgles something unintelligible, but manages to flip him off, so Caleb muffles a laugh against his thigh.

He withdraws his fingers, pressing a line of kisses up Fjord’s body; his thigh, his hip, his belly. Up to his sternum, the hollow of his throat, his jaw, until he can press their foreheads together, “Gut?”

“Uh huh,” Fjord’s pupils are still blown wide and Caleb isn’t sure he’s actually seeing anything, “just give me a second.”

“Take your time,” Caleb says, running a hand up and down Fjord’s flank in even, rhythmic strokes. He can feel Fjord’s pulse, rabbit quick under his palm, and stays quiet while it slows into something more reasonable.

And that’s how Fjord catches him off guard, while he’s so entranced by Fjord’s heartbeat, that he misses when Fjord presses up with his thigh, right against the line of his dick still trapped in his trousers. Caleb hisses, swears violently, fingernails accidentally digging into Fjord’s skin.

“Easy, tiger,” Fjord’s grinning when Caleb glances at him and Caleb resists the urge to bare his teeth at him, instead scrapes them over Fjord’s jaw. “Wanna do something about that?” And one of his hands cups Caleb’s hip, drags him down in a grind against his thigh, “maybe shed some layers?”

Caleb groans, chin dipping against his chest, “If you—”

“—I’m going to stop you there, Caleb,” Fjord squeezes his hip, tight but not painful, “I’m offering.”

“Okay,” Caleb manages, breath shaky, and curls his fingers into the bottom of his tunic and yanks it up. He drops it to the floor and regrets the fact that to remove anything else, he’s got to pull away.

Fjord pushes at his hip though and he slides off the bed, shucking his trousers and smalls, then freezes in place as he watches Fjord move, shift. He settles on his side, back to Caleb, a network of thick scarring that covers his back down to the curve of his ass.

“Do you need a written invitation?”

Caleb jerks in place, has to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, breathe for a few seconds, then climbs back onto the bed. The difference in their sizes becomes blatantly obvious as Caleb tucks against his back, presses a kiss between his shoulders, “Are you sure?”

There’s a subvocal growl that he takes as a yes and even then, Fjord reaches back and wraps a hand around his cock and Caleb muffles his groan into Fjord’s back as Fjord thumbs over the head, spreading precum along his length.

“I’m not the only one who was wet, hm?” Fjord shuffles back then, easing Caleb’s dick between his thighs.

Realization hits him like a great club to the chest and Caleb’s hips twitch forward.

Fjord huffs gently, “Now, he’s getting it,” though not meanly and reaches back again, tugs Caleb’s arm over his middle, tangling their fingers up against his sternum, “C’mon, you’re not going to hurt me.”

And then tenses his thighs.

He muffles another sound into Fjord’s back, a strangled sort of cry, his hips lurching into the tight clutch Fjord’s created with his thighs. It’d been easy not to think about how turned on he was when he was focused on Fjord, on getting Fjord off as many times as he could, but now he realizes just how on edge he is.

“Come on, Caleb, like you mean it,” and Fjord sounds so smug, like he knows and he does now, there’s no way he can’t. Not with how hard Caleb is between his thighs, the precum he’s leaking everywhere, the fact that he can’t actually keep his hips still.

So he rises to Fjord’s bait, snaps his hips hard and fast, chasing his own climax.

Then the head of his dick must graze over Fjord’s clit, still swollen and sensitive, because Fjord’s entire body locks up and the shout he lets out doesn’t quite get muffled. Caleb has just enough awareness as he plummets over the edge to realize that he must’ve pushed Fjord into a fourth orgasm like this, if they way he’s trembling and panting is anything to go by.

Caleb pants against his back, dragging his mouth over scarred skin in what could be kisses if he were more coordinated. “Schiesse,” he wiggles his fingers, “Fjord, I can’t feel my fingers.”

“Ah,” Fjord shudders once, “sorry,” and his grip loosens, though he doesn’t actually release. “Don’t suppose you think people wouldn’t have heard that.”

Fjord’s thighs are still trembling and Caleb eases back his hips, a half hearted groan forming in the back of his throat.

Caleb touches his forehead to the space between Fjord’s shoulder blades, does nothing to muffle his slightly winded laughter, “People are much better at ignoring things they don’t want to hear than you might think.” He tugs gently at his hand, “Here, I will clean us up.”

It takes a few seconds, silence easy, before Fjord releases his hand and when Caleb shifts back, Fjord tips to sprawl wide across the bed. His lips are twisted a little, like he’s thinking, not meeting Caleb’s gaze.

“Fjord.”

“Hm?” Fjord blinks and the expression locks down when Fjord turns to him, but he meets his gaze evenly, waits. A few beats of silence and Fjord starts to crumble, the unsure expression returning, “Maybe this is a conversation we could have when I’m not—”

“Nude? Covered in cum?”

Fjord’s nose scrunches, “Yes, that.”

Caleb laughs softly and pads to the basin tucked into the corner. The water is tepid, but clean so he wets a rag from next to it, returns to the bed. “You’re worried,” he says, sinking onto the bed near Fjord’s hip. 

The rag isn’t very soft and Fjord twitches at the first pass of it over one of his thighs and Caleb gentles his motions as much as he can, not wanting to make his oversensitivity worse. A little out of the fog of arousal, he can see how abused Fjord’s thighs are now, rubbed raw and covered in marks.

“Don’t make that face,” Fjord says and nudges his hip with a knee, “I liked it.”

Caleb hums and continues with passes of the rag, though he has to pause at one point, when Fjord’s thighs clamp around his wrist. “I doubt you’ll like it as much tomorrow when we are travelling.” 

“Oh, ah,” and when he looks, Fjord is looking away, cheeks ruddy again.

Tongue between his teeth, Caleb rubs his thumb over one of the larger marks, watches Fjord’s body jerk. “Oh, that is very interesting,” he says and stands up in time for Fjord to miss with a half hearted swipe in his direction. He wipes himself down perfunctorily and sets about searching for his smallclothes.

He doesn’t miss the small sound that comes from Fjord and looks over in question to see Fjord propped up on his elbows, that same unsure expression on his face. Caleb offers him a small smile, aiming for reassuring, “I’m not leaving, unless you want me to,” he says slowly, “The idea of remaining naked longer than necessary when our friends have a hard time with boundaries as it is though...”

“I, no, no, I want you to.”

“Want me to?” Caleb lifts a brow, though looks away to tug his smalls up.

“Oh, stay, I would like it if you would stay,” Fjord clears his throat and Caleb sits on the edge of the bed in time to watch Fjord climb off and walk to his pack.

It’s a very ginger walk and satisfaction curls hot in Caleb’s belly.

“Then I will stay,” he agrees, watching Fjord pull on a clean pair of underthings, followed by a new pair of his leggings. He shuffles up the bed onto the pillows when Fjord comes close, lets himself be manhandled a bit until he’s in the middle of the bed on his back, Fjord tucked up along his side, cheek to his chest.

He cards his fingers through Fjord’s hair, “As long as you’ll have me.”

The only answer he gets is that rumble that starts in Fjord’s chest once more, a soft kiss pressed to his sternum.

\-----

At breakfast the next morning, Fjord is much stiller, though Caleb catches Caduceus squinting between the two of them several times throughout. Thankfully, the others don’t seem to notice, too excited about the trip back to the Cinderrest Sanctum, the prospect of seeing the sword as one piece finally. 

It’s all fine, until the group decision is to pay to take goats to shorten the trip.

Caleb watches the way Fjord’s shoulders go tight and turns his face to hide his smirk into his scarf.

Then Fjord turns to him, a glint in his eyes, “If Nott’s going to ride with Caduceus, I’ll ride with Caleb then.,” his smile syrupy sweet, “I’ll even let you ride in the front.”

“Ja, alright,” he says, far more steady than he’s truly feeling, waiting until the group is moving towards the outside of the city to tuck his face against his scarf again, sending a message to Fjord, a muffled, “_You will not win this game, katzchen._”

Hardly a beat later, he hears, “_We’ll see about that, darling._”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter


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